


Slowly Being Put Back Together

by orphan_account



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Depression, Emotional Numbness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond returns from a mission, only to find his Quartermaster slowly falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slowly Being Put Back Together

 

Bond limped down the corridor into Q-Branch, slipping his probably-not-broken hand into his pocket. He needed scotch, or vodka, whatever Alec had left him, and he needed to sleep for at least twelve hours, but the threat of Q’s wrath if he did either of those things before returning the equipment was enough to make him go via the Quartermaster’s office before finding a way back to his flat. It was some God awful time in the morning where even the skeleton crew had petered out, leaving the computers on every desk sleeping peacefully in the dark, but Bond knew Q would still be there. He wasn’t convinced the man ever left. A dull light shone underneath the door to his office and Bond pushed the door open without knocking. Q was sitting heavily at his desk, staring at a black computer screen, his fingers still resting lightly on the keys. A heartbreaking expression dulled the sharp angles of his face, and he didn’t even blink when Bond stepped cautiously into the room. The bitter sense of burnt-out adrenaline coursed through the room.

Bond inhaled. Exhaled.

“Q.”

Q looked up slowly, and his hand twitched towards his sleeve.

“007.”

Bond lay his gun on the desk, taking note of the uncharacteristic mess of a toolkit littered across it, but the lack of equipment to use them on.

“Just the gun, then?”

Bond’s eyes snapped up at the slight waver in Q’s voice. Q’s hand twitched again.

“Q, is everything…?”

Bond trailed off, unsure of protocol. He respected his Quartermaster, his ability to make the hardest decisions, his integrity with his work, his dedication to bringing Her Majesty’s agents as safely as possible. But this was different. Something was wrong.

“Go get your hand looked at, Bond.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not fine.”

Bond felt like he was on a tightrope. Balancing between leaving and staying, wondering where the line was, and how close Q was to falling off it.

“Do you ever…” Came the whisper from across the desk. “Do you ever feel like there’s just… nothing?”

Q finally looked at him properly, eyes wide, not with hope, but with desperation, searching desperately for something, anything.

“Q…”

Bond shut the door and walked around the desk, holding his good hand against Q’s cheek, almost flinching from the icy feel to it. He knelt on the carpet and slowly, gently pulled Q down from his chair. Q collapsed into him, allowing himself to be enveloped by Bond’s arms, resting his head against Bond’s warmth. Bond tucked Q’s head into his neck as he rested his chin on his shoulder, clasping his hands to enclose Q fully. From this angle he saw a fallen screwdriver resting next to the table leg, the bright metal dulled in a red too pure to be rust.

Bond held on tighter, trying to pull Q back together between his arms.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in no way advocating self harm or romanticising depression. Please, please talk to someone if you or someone you know, feel out of sorts. Anonymity helps a lot of people start a conversation, and there are so many online counselling sites and phone helplines that you can remain nameless on. Be safe.


End file.
